


The Subject of Focus

by clarityhiding



Series: Kyle Solves Some Mysteries! [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Gotham Central, Green Lantern (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Case Fic, Identity Porn, M/M, Past Character Death, Private Investigator Kyle Rayner, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26005036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarityhiding/pseuds/clarityhiding
Summary: Things are getting pretty serious between Kyle and Jason—they're spending their nights together more often than not and Jason's family is coming by to meet the new man in his life. Kyle might even go so far as to say that things are going swimmingly... were it not for the elephant in the room. The dead elephant.The Tim Drake-shaped elephant.
Relationships: Kyle Rayner/Jason Todd, Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Series: Kyle Solves Some Mysteries! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887436
Comments: 33
Kudos: 88





	The Subject of Focus

**Author's Note:**

> Again, this is still me playing in chibi_nightowl's [excellent ficlet](https://chibinightowl.tumblr.com/post/174071189498/if-you-are-still-doing-prompts-can-you-do-a) (for which she has written more! though I'm failing at finding the links at the moment). Many thanks to her for letting me play in AU, beta'ing this, and holding my hand as I wailed about the complications of writing mysteries.

Kyle is barely managing a 3-foot-by-4-foot canvas when someone catches the door and holds it open for him. After successfully getting it all the way here from his studio unscathed—via public transportation, no less—he would have felt like a real fool if a door in the final stretch caused him to put his foot through the canvas, ruining three weeks of work. Because of course today would be the one day that the ever-present doorman would be out sick. "Thanks," he says, more than a little relieved. 

"No problem," a vaguely familiar voice says.

Inside at last, Kyle takes a moment to catch his breath and finally get a look at his savior. Holy cow, that has to be one of the most attractive men he's ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. "Uh."

"It's Kyle, right?" the Adonis says while Kyle's still struggling to remember how to speak without putting his foot in his mouth. "I think we met at one of Donna's things once."

"Considering the number of ungodly hot people I've had the pleasure of meeting because of Donna, that is entirely possible," Kyle replies, completely failing to not say something totally inappropriate. "Oh hell, I said that out loud."

Mr. Ungodly Hot laughs and holds out a hand. "No worries, I'll take it as a compliment. I'm Dick."

The name sparks a memory as Kyle takes the proffered hand and shakes it. "Right. You here to check up on Jason, then?" Somehow, despite the large size of Jason's family, this is his first time meeting any of them. Though it's probably about time—they've been dating for nearly five months, and he feels confident in his private assessment that things are definitely getting serious.

"What, I can't stop by and say hi to my little brother?" Dick smiles, wide and brilliant, and Kyle feels his fingers itch for a pencil to try and capture it.

He releases Dicks hand and reaffirms his grip on the canvas. "Never said that. Just, I got the impression from him that your family wasn't all that happy about him moving away from Gotham."

"I'll admit we were a bit worried about him at first, but he's clearly doing fine on his own. I'm sure you're part of the reason for it."

Kyle is more than a little doubtful about that—aside from the occasional unpleasant anniversary, Jason isn't the type to wallow on past hurts. "Jason takes care of himself fine. He doesn't need anyone nannying him."

Dick laughs and nods. "Don't I know it? Well, I've got to be off, but it was nice to meet you, Kyle. Again."

He waves and is out the door before Kyle can really formulate a response, disappearing into the crowd. Swallowing, he hefts his canvas and lumbers over to the penthouse elevator. "Is he always like that?" he asks the receptionist.

"Like a whirlwind that smacks you in the face and leaves before you can really figure out where to rest your eyes that it won't be considered inappropriate?" She sighs. "Pretty much. Fair warning—the whole family is awful at keeping secrets. There's a good chance more will come by to check you out, now that they know."

Kyle groans. "Great. Just what I needed to start my week."

* * *

Wednesday, he meets up with Gary more to touch base than because he has any work for him.

"You look… tired," Kyle says, eying him up and down. "Long night?"

"I had a date," Gary says, collapsing on the table across from Kyle, his head _thunking_ against the top of it. "I forgot how much I suck at dating."

"Oh, really? I find that hard to believe, you're a good conversationalist." Kyle smirks at him. "Be level with me—are you saying this so I'll feel better about missing that ship? Because honestly, you really don't have to."

"No, I mean. I'm great at dating people I'm already friends with, because they get me, they understand how I tick. Other people?" Gary groans into the Formica tabletop. "I tend to end up bored and distracted. It's not a great combination for making a good first impression."

"If you're always bored, you're probably dating the wrong kind of people."

"I guess. I don't know—it just seems like so much work, sometimes."

"In my experience, it's not work if it's someone you're truly interested in," Kyle observes. "Someone like that? You make the effort."

"We can't all find ridiculously hot and brilliant rich kids to fall for, Rayner. If nothing else, the supply is pretty limited." Sighing, he rolls his head to the side, peeking out through his ludicrous hair. "Maybe I'm just not as ready to get back in the game as I thought."

"Maybe," Kyle agrees. "Gonna put the breaks on again?"

"Maybe. Probably." Another sigh, and Gary pulls himself out of his slump to sit up straight, pulling his mug close and taking a long sip. "Though, if you and your guy call it quits, let me know. I'll want to take them off again then."

"Hopefully, that won't be happening any time soon." Kyle knocks on the top of the table and crosses his fingers for good measure.

Gary tilts head to the side, watching him over the top of his mug. "The two of you are doing okay?"

"Yeah," he says, and even he can hear the soppy smile seeping into his voice. "Yeah, we're doing more than okay. I really like him and, amazingly enough, it continues to be mutual."

"Good," Gary says, his gaze dropping down to his mug as he smiles his weird half-smile. "That's… That's really good. Happy for you, man. Past due to have some happiness coming your way."

* * *

Kyle was sure the receptionist at Wayne Tower was joking about Jason's family, but a few days later he and Jason are in the middle of a very promising makeout session when the intercom announces, "Mr. Wayne, Mr. Rayner, just a warning—Dr. Wayne is on her way up."

"Shit," Jason gasps, shooting to his feet and dumping Kyle on his ass. "I totally forgot she said she was coming."

"Your sister?" He knows Jason has two, that one's a dancer and one's a doctor, but he had no idea either was visiting.

"Yeah. I mean, she didn't actually say she was coming, but she sent a text that was just a train emoji earlier, which is about as straightforward as Stephanie gets when it comes to advanced warning."

"She do that a lot?"

"Few times now, since I moved here," Jason says, hastily tugging down his shirt. "Why?"

"Just surprised I haven't run into her yet." Kyle doesn't _think_ Jason is trying to keep him a secret, just, well… From what Dick said, it sounded like the rest of the Waynes weren’t even really aware that Jason was seeing anyone.

"Well, a couple of those times was before we started seeing each other, and the last time she blew through town was when you were neck deep in comic pages a couple months back." Leaning over, Jason gives him a hand up, tugging him close once he's standing. "I'm not ashamed of you, but maybe I _am_ trying to save you from having to deal with my crazy family any sooner than necessary." "Oh, come on. I'm nowhere _near_ as bad as Dick, and Kyle's already met him," someone says, and Kyle nearly smacks his face into Jason's in an effort to see.

The woman in the doorway looks relatively normal and nothing like the few glamor magazine shots he's seen of Stephanie Brown-Wayne. Comfy jeans, a purple hoodie, and a ridiculously large pair of sunglasses, currently holding back a mass of wavy blond hair.

"Uh. Hi?"

"Hey," she says, smiling a bright, blinding smile and yikes—there's that Wayne charm he remembers from Dick. "Think I can steal the two of you for dinner? I figure it's about time I checked out my big bro's current squeeze."

* * *

Stephanie isn't nearly as bad as Jason seemed to imply earlier in the evening, Kyle decides a while later. They ended up at a brewpub that's a little more upscale than he'd visit on his own, but he knows it's more because Jason wants to do something nice for his sister than because of any snootiness on their parts. 

Things seem to be going fine, though Stephanie keeps making little digs. Comments that have a bit of an edge to them, one that only seems to get worse once she finds out what he does for a living. Kyle's pretty sure she's not looking down on him because he doesn't come from money, but he can't think of anything else. Unless, maybe, she's not too hot on cops.

At one point, he excuses himself to use the restroom, leaving the Waynes alone in the cozy booth they've been occupying all evening. It's second nature to fall back behind the partition when Kyle picks up on the harsh, angry tone the conversation has taken on during his absence, years of listening in to get a better read of the situation making it a matter of habit after all this time.

"Alright, what's your problem? Something's clearly been bothering you this whole time—if you don't like the guy, stop dancing around the fact and just fucking say it already. I get enough bullshit games with Bruce and the others, I don't need you jumping on the bandwagon too," Jason snarls, leaning across the table to glare at his sister. "C'mon, out with it—what's wrong with Kyle?"

"Nothing's wrong with him," Stephanie insists, though she still sways away from him. "Kyle's great, he's dreamy. It's just…"

"Just what?"

"Well, what am I supposed to think? Black hair, blue eyes—"

"If you think Bruce is going to want to adopt him, I'm pretty sure his mom is still alive," Jason drawls, settling back in his seat.

"If actual orphanhood mattered to him, this family would be a lot smaller," Stephanie shoots back. "Come on, Jay, you know that's not where I'm going with this. Sure, he's taller, but he's an artist who loves mysteries. Willful ignorance only goes so far."

"Kyle doesn't 'love mysteries,' he's a retired detective, practicing P.I.," Jason corrects, but he's drawing in, refusing to meet Stephanie's gaze as he folds his arms across his chest in a distinctly defensive move.

"You're really not helping yourself here," Stephanie chides, sounding more sad than angry now. "Jason, I miss him too, but there's having a type and there's being stuck in the past. I'm glad you feel ready to move on, I just want to make sure you're aware of who it is you're involved with now. For both your sakes."

He's listened way longer than he should have, so he crosses his fingers and rounds the corner, pretending ignorance as he slides back into the booth beside Jason. Still, Kyle can't help but be a bit more reserved for the rest of the evening. It's good to know that her beef isn't with him, but at the same time, he feels unsettled. The feeling lingers after they leave the restaurant and head back to the penthouse, sitting around for a while longer, talking, until finally Stephanie stretches and stands, announcing that she better be getting to the hotel she insists on staying at, 'to give them some privacy.'

That's probably why he volunteers to ride down to the lobby with her, make sure she gets to her car okay. Pick up some things for breakfast tomorrow while he's at it.

"So," he says as soon as the door slides shut on Jason and the penthouse, leaving them some degree of privacy, "you think I'm dreamy?"

For her part, Stephanie doesn't even try to make excuses for her earlier comments, just leans back against the paneled wall and crosses her arms. "I call it like I see it. Someone has to be willing to in this family—the boys are all hot messes of varying degrees of repression and Cass enjoys watching them run around like headless chickens too much to say anything."

Not exactly the response he expected. "It's your solemn duty to pass judgement on the attractiveness of the people your siblings date?"

"Just because you're taken doesn't mean I can't look. I know Dick came by last month—something tells me dating Jason didn't stop you from admiring our big brother's assets." She raises a carefully shaped eyebrow at him, prompting Kyle to wince and shrug. He isn't about to deny it; Dick Wayne is a beautiful man and he definitely noticed that.

"But no. I meant more in terms of how they tend to be bad at relationships. Good at picking out people to date, horrible at keeping it going. Dick got engaged three times before he even finished college, Damian still thinks insults are the height of flirtation, and Jason is dating a guy who's disturbingly similar to his dead fiancé. No offense to you, I'm sure you're a great guy or else Donna wouldn't put up with you, but..." She shrugs.

"I knew going into this it was going to be a rebound sort of relationship," he says, because it's true. A rebound for both of them, in a way. He'd dated since Alex, but nothing long-term. In part because he was still working through his own personal traumas, but also because he kept hoping Gary would come around and give him a chance. "My last serious relationship ended amicably, but she got caught up in a case I was working at the time and it… didn't end well for her."

"FYI, if this is supposed to make me feel better about your intentions towards my brother, it's really not working," she tells him, her blue eyes going cold and flinty.

"No, I mean… That was back when I still had a badge; I don't get involved in anything high-risk like that anymore," he's quick to reassure her. "Just finding missing people and things, doing simple background research, the occasional suspected infidelity." He misses being able to do more, but in a way he's also glad he was forced into early retirement. Otherwise he might never be willing to risk another relationship again.

"That's what Tim said too, only simple stuff, and look where he ended up," Stephanie snaps, and… it's weird. Her voice wobbles, sounds choked up. A lot more emotional than you'd expect for someone talking about their brother's late fiancé, dead for more than three years. "Sorry, he was my friend, too. And my sort-of ex—I mean, we went on one date, and then I told him to stop lying to himself and ask out the Wayne kid he really wanted to be with."

"I, uh. Thought Tim was a photographer?" Kyle offers, feeling very much out of his depth at the moment.

"Computer geek, actually. The photography was a hobby, something of a side gig he picked up during grad school, along with the other thing," Stephanie says, digging through her purple handbag until she comes up with a handkerchief and noisily blows her nose.

"Other thing?"

"He loved solving mysteries, got pretty good at it and used to do odd jobs while he was in undergrad," she explains. "When he moved back to Gotham after, he went ahead and made it official, got his PI license and everything. You see why I'm worried about Jason? How can he ever move on if he just keeps dating the same guy, over and over?"

* * *

"That was interesting," Kyle announces when he gets back later, dropping his bag of groceries on the counter and starts putting things away. In the lounge area, Jason makes a noncommittal noise but doesn't glance up from the manuscript he's editing, looking entirely too attractive as he absentmindedly chews on a pen, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. No, not now. Groceries first. And the Talk. "The ride down to the lobby with Stephanie, I mean."

"Everything out of her mouth is pure lies and you can't believe a word she says," is Jason's automatic response.

Kyle hums thoughtfully as he finishes in the kitchen, then comes over to settle down next to Jason on the couch. "I hadn't realized Tim and I had so much in common." he says, trying and failing to think of a more delicate way to phrase it.

Jason stiffens, his eyes going slightly glassy the way they always do whenever his late fiancé comes up in conversation. "Of course she told you about that. Ignore it, Stephanie's a jerk sometimes," he says. He doesn't relax, still sitting ramrod-straight.

"Hey, it's okay," Kyle tells him, finding his hand and squeezing it, leaning into his side. "I get that I'm a bit of a rebound, it's fine." He doesn't know that much about Jason's last relationship, but Donna's told him enough that he understands Tim left some pretty big shoes behind for him to try and fill.

"You're not, though," Jason insists. "It's just… It took me a long time, to really get it through my head that Tim was gone, he wasn't coming back. Part of the appeal of dating you at the start was probably that you both share some superficial similarities, sure, but you're also pretty different. It's not… You may be my first foray back into the dating pool, but I swear I never thought of you as a rebound."

Kyle mulls this over and slowly nods his head. "I know I haven't really talked about it, and it's not quite the same for me, but… My last serious relationship ended fine; we'd drifted apart, romantically speaking, but we'd decided to stay friends. This was back when I was still on the force, and the case I was working—it got dangerous, fast. I got lucky, came out the other side with a knee injury and early retirement. But Alex…" He sucks in a breath, lets it out slow. "We weren't together anymore, but it’s not like criminals really care about that. They left her spread-eagle on her bed and it… There was so much blood, it practically soaked through the mattress. I was the one who found her."

"Holy shit, Kyle. I know you said you'd lost someone, but that's just." Jason shudders, pulling him into a tight embrace. "Guess we were both kind of messed up in the head when we found each other, huh?"

"Well, I don't know about that," Kyle jokes. "I mean. I was seriously trying to get Gary to go out with me before you came along."

"Sure you were. I'm still not entirely positive he's even a real person," Jason says, setting his glasses aside and pressing his face into Kyle's hair. "You ready for bed? I dunno about you, but I could stand to have some serious cuddles after Hurricane Stephanie."

"Yeah," Kyle says softly. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

No more of Jason's siblings feel the need to make surprise appearances, and Kyle decides to take his breaks where he can find them rather than worry about possible future visits. He lets Jason's family slip from his radar once more, going about his day-to-day life and just enjoying having someone to spend time with again.

It's life, so he wouldn't say he develops a false sense of security—life is life, with ups, downs, and in-betweens. All the same, he isn't expecting it when he wanders into the dining area of the penthouse one morning, and his eye is caught by a splash of color on the table.

They got back to Jason's late the night before, both of them a bit buzzed and Kyle's attention very much consumed by a distracting mouth and a pair of wandering hands, so it's not surprising he didn't notice the half-unwrapped package on the table at the time. Curious, he wanders over to check it out, sleepily scratching his belly and still more asleep than awake.

That's probably why it takes him a minute or two to fully realize exactly what it is he's seeing. A lovingly rendered portrait of two men, caught in an embrace and mid-laugh forever. One of them is Jason and the other—the other has to be…

Kyle stares at the painting on the table, and something in his gut twists as any number of things slot into place and certain mysteries suddenly become clear. Not everything, but. Enough things.

"Something wrong?" Strong arms wrap around his middle and a solid body presses against his back. He tries not to stiffen at the sudden embrace, but Jason must sense his discomfort since he pulls away slightly. "Kyle? You alright?"

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he strives to keep his tone even and light when he replies. "Gorgeous piece. The other man, is that…?"

"Tim? Yeah. Damian started this as a wedding gift, and he was nearly done when—when the accident happened. He hates leaving things incomplete, so I guess he finally finished it. Showed up in the mail yesterday, I haven't decided what I'm gonna do with it yet."

"It's a great likeness," Kyle says, staring at the painting. "Of you, I mean. Your brother's very talented." Swallowing again, he disengages the arms around him and steps away. "I've got to go, just had a breakthrough on something."

"Can't it wait? I was going to make us breakfast."

As appealing as Jason cooking always is, staying here right now just isn't an option. "Can I take a rain check? I want to follow this up while it's still fresh in my mind, before I get too distracted." He's already gathering up clothes shed willy-nilly the night before, pulling them on. "The sooner, the better."

* * *

He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, doesn't want to pile any additional heartbreak on top of what's already there by saying anything too soon, making accusations without knowing all the hows and whys. At the same time, he also knows he won't be able to keep it under the radar if he goes about this the way he normally does, starting with general web searches, gradually narrowing his results as he goes, investigating specifics in person. If what he suspects is true, Kyle knows he's going to need to keep all of this as old-school as possible.

First things first, he stops by an ATM and takes out $400, figuring that should be enough to cover just about anything that should come his way over the next few days. Next, it's back to his place to grab a bag and some clothes. He's not sure how clean his cell is, all things considered, but he's pretty sure it's safe enough to use it to make one last call before leaving town. He'll pick up a cheap burner on his way to the train station later.

Scrolling through his contacts, he finds the one he wants. Takes a moment to get his story straight in his mind, then makes the call.

"Hey, Mac? It's Kyle, Kyle Rayner. We met at a seminar in Metropolis a few years back? Yeah, yeah, I deserve that. Look, I'm going to be down your way for a couple of days and I was wondering if that offer of a couch was still on the table…"

* * *

Mac offers to pick him up from the train station and Kyle jumps at the chance. He's been to the city only one time before, and that was just a day trip he took down to check out an exhibit at the Burnley Museum. Having a local to show him around is something he's not about to turn down, especially since Mac's the sort of person who'll know how to get everywhere he wants to go.

"Heard about your knee through the grapevine," Mac offers, walking him to a worn-but-sturdy-looking sedan, old enough that she has to unlock the doors manually. "Horrible thing to happen."

"Water under the bridge," Kyle assures her, buckling himself into the passenger seat. "I'm surprised you had the time to come get me. Aren't they keeping you busy enough in Missing Persons these days?"

She grins at him as she pulls out of the parking spot. "Got a promotion, I'm working Major Crimes out of Central now. There's a lull at the moment, though we get plenty of overtime most of the time. What about you, how're you keeping busy now? The art thing? You were pretty good at that, from what I remember."

"I do a little design. All freelance stuff," Kyle allows. "I'm also working as a private investigator. Figure I've still got all the training even if I can't meet the department's physical standards."

Mac glances over, narrowing her eyes. "Aah, the truth comes out. Do I dare ask if this unexpected visit is business or pleasure?"

Kyle grins at her. "What's the point in knowing a GCPD detective if I can't call in a favor every now and then?"

* * *

Mac drops him off at the library since she has a job to get back to and can't spend all day babysitting him. He suspects he'll eventually want to prevail upon her to help him access GCPD records, but for now some preliminary research is required.

It's easy enough to charm the librarian at the desk into helping him track down all the papers covering the disappearance and presumed death of one Timothy Drake.

"I remember when this went down," the librarian says. " _The Daily Planet_ was very sympathetic to the Waynes, of course—the _Planet_ 's a subsidiary of Wayne Media—but the reporter covering the story for the _Gotham Gazette_ made Drake out to be some kind of wild party kid."

"You don't agree with that?" Kyle finds it unlikely mostly because he can't see Jason getting involved with a hedonist.

The librarian shakes his head. "The media likes to make the Waynes out to be east coast Kardashians, but Wayne Enterprises has done a lot for Gotham—low-cost housing projects, youth outreach, employment opportunities for just about anyone willing to work… And Jason Wayne, the Wayne kid who was engaged to Drake? He grew up in Crime Alley before Bruce Wayne took him in. Can't see anyone like that taking up with an airhead party boy." He grins and shrugs. "Of course, I'm probably just as biased as the _Planet_. I went through college on a Wayne Foundation scholarship."

"Sounds like it would be hard to find anyone in this city who isn't going to be biased about the Waynes," Kyle observes, accepting the papers from the young man.

"Yeah, probably."

* * *

_The Daily Planet_ ran a very respectful article about Timothy Drake's disappearance followed by a short but clearly heartfelt obituary a few months later. Technically, the case is still open and Drake can't be declared dead for another three and a half years, but there haven't been any developments since the start. It's apparently assumed his body was washed out to sea with all the flooding that happened that fall. Which just goes to show that assuming is a stupid thing to do.

 _The Gotham Gazette_ also ran two pieces about Drake's disappearance. The first was a short blurb, wedged in between an obituary for a noted philanthropist and an article the early retirement of the city comptroller. Just some little thing that appears to have mostly served as a way of showing readers the paper was aware of the event, a way to tide them over while the reporter researched the second, much longer article.

Starting on the lengthy exposé, Kyle quickly understands what the librarian meant when he said the reporter seemed to have a vendetta against the Waynes. The reporter, one Vicki Vale, starts attacking Drake right out of the gate. She casts aspersions on the validity of the man's character, his degree, and even his pedigree.

The disappearance she frames as the grand finale of a fast downward spiral on Drake's part. She refers back to the man's parents, once well-known faces in Gotham high society some two decades or so prior to their son's disappearance, flitting around the world for long stretches at a time, only to return home long enough to attend the latest party. According to Vale, Jack and Janet Drake frittered away their wealth with their extravagant lifestyle, eventually selling the family company to cover their debts and moving to Keystone City when they could no longer afford Gotham County's high property values.

Having set the stage, she starts in on Timothy Drake himself, making it clear that, if the article is to be believed, the son was a chip off the old block. In the month leading up to his disappearance, Drake threw a wild party, trashing his apartment. A week before going missing, he'd nearly totaled his car while driving erratically through the Bowery—with Vale heavily insinuating that he narrowly avoided a DUI citation by virtue of his soon-to-be father-in-law's money, connections, and influence. There's even a throw-away reference to a harassment claim, like an awful cherry atop an already unpleasant cake.

All in all, it paints a pretty damning portrait, especially considering that Vale has quotes from the officers that responded to the incidents. Quotes that describe Drake as an entitled rich kid who liked to treat the GCPD as his own private security force. None of it jives with what Kyle has heard about the man from Donna, or the small tidbits Jason occasionally drops. Nor does it really work with _Planet_ 's obituary, which describes an intelligent young man, working hard to put himself through grad school. At the same time, the librarian had a point about the _Planet_ being owned by Wayne Entertainment. It's reasonable to think that the Wayne family would pressure reporters to portray the disappearance of a near-member in a sympathetic light.

Pulling out his phone, he calls the one number in it. "Hey, Mac. Think you could spare me a little time this afternoon? I've got some old cases I'd love to see the files for."

* * *

"So I went looking, and I found the reports from two of the incidents Vale referred to in her article," Mac says, nodding to the small stack files on the edge of her desk. "You can't take them out of the station, but you're welcome to look at them here."

"Physical files? What is this, the Stone Age?" Kyle quips as he grabs a chair and drags it over.

"We get enough whackos who are handy with a computer that the commissioner insists all paperwork be filed both electronically and physically. I don't have an extra computer for you to use, so I figured this would be easier."

"Gotcha." Pulling out the notebook he's been using as a low-tech stand-in for his phone on this particular case, he settles in to read and take notes.

"Or you could just sit back while I give you a rundown on what those say. I looked up all the same stuff three years ago."

"Yeah, okay." Kyle is more than willing to get yet another perspective on the matter, though he'll still want to take a look at the reports himself after.

"That first one on top is an accident report, probably what Vale was talking about when she said Drake skated clear of a DUI." Mac taps the folder in question. "Week before he went missing, Drake got in a mild fender bender when he ran a red light. Simple case, though the officer at the scene tried to book him on a DUI since witnesses reported he was driving erratically before running the light and rear-ending the car in front of him."

"Tried? So Vale was right when she claimed it didn't stick."

Mac shrugs. "The report says he passed all the field sobriety tests with flying colors. But I know the officer in question—or, well, I know _of_ him. He's far from a sterling example of Gotham's finest, it wouldn't take much to convince him to look the other way, if someone wanted to. I'm not saying he did, just that it's a possibility, and there's every chance Vale picked up on that if she interviewed him like she claims she did."

Knowing what he does of the reputation of a good chunk of Gotham's police force, Kyle can see why the rest of its citizens may take a cop's word with a grain of salt. Plus, factoring in what Drake looks like on paper, it makes sense—fiancé of the son of one of the wealthiest men in the country? Of course people would expect him to be a party boy, using money and influence to make pesky things like DUIs disappear. 

He slides the folder to the side so he can get at the next one, flipping it open. "This the one for the noise complaint about the party that got out of hand?"

"Oh, right, I forgot that was how she framed it." Mac frowns, shaking her head. "Look, I don't want to imply anything about anyone in the department, but I still can't figure out how the officers sent to investigate that one came to the conclusion the mess was from a party. I spoke to the fiancé at the time, and he said Drake rarely had any kind of get-togethers, let alone wild parties. Hadn't even heard the cops had been called out because of one either."

"You think Drake may've been living a double life? Hiding stuff from his fiancé?"

"Well, I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, but I think there's a good chance _something_ was off. I checked out the apartment while I was looking into the disappearance—he'd cleaned up some, but it was still a disaster area, and not your usual post-party kind. Busted computer—the computer, mind, not the monitor, emptied cupboards, upended furniture, even a broken glass door in the bedroom."

"Odd, but not that unusual for a party that's gotten out of control," Kyle says, though he's frowning down at the report as he skims. There's something off about it that's bugging him, and he can't figure out why until it hits him—there's absolutely no mention of a noise complaint. In fact… He goes back, skimming the beginning that he'd initially ignored. "Hold up, this says officers were called to the scene by Drake himself."

"Funny, huh? In fact, I tracked down the rookie partner of the guy who wrote that up, and _he_ said that Drake called it in as a home-invasion. The reporting officer frames it as Drake trying to disguise his own screw-up as an break-in so he could look better and make an insurance claim, and his partner backed him up on it, but."

"But it all smells more than a little fishy, especially for a guy who could more than afford to replace or repair the damage without bothering with insurance."

"Hey, all I know is that I looked all over the patio outside that glass door and I didn't find any sign of glass, though there was plenty on the carpet inside," Mac says, her eyebrows going up. "I don't know about you, but I can't imagine what kind of indoor party ends up with someone breaking a glass door from the outside."

"Yeah, I can see why that would seem a little strange," Kyle agrees, wheels turning in his head. Things are starting to slot together, but not fully. He's still missing some part, something to explain all these conflicting stories. It can't _all_ be resentment against the haves by the have-nots, can it? At the same time, he ran into some of these party-hard trust-fund babies back when he still had a badge, and it's not inconceivable that Drake was one. Of course, that doesn't sound like anyone Jason would want to take up with, but time and loss have been known to change people.

He closes the folder, figuring he'll get back to it later. For now, he plans to take advantage of Mac and her familiarity with the case for as long as he has her. "The article also had another incident? Something about a harassment charge? It was a quick-and-you'll-miss it reference, but I was wondering if you knew anything about that."

To his surprise, Mac laughs. "I think I know what that was about, though I'm surprised she even bothered. I don't think there was ever a formal complaint filed, and if there was, it got dropped almost as soon as it was made. I'm surprised Vale even bothered mentioning it."

"Oh? Care to elaborate?"

"Let me just say I never would have known about it if I didn't do a very thorough job looking into every part of Drake's life at the time," she tells him. "Like, for example, into his jobs."

"Jobs?" Kyle asks, feigning ignorance. "Wasn't he in grad school?"

"Just finished, actually, but he was working on the side the entire time. His parents lost their money, remember?, Aand while Bruce Wayne's giving when it comes to charity, he's known for being shrewd when it comes to business. Drake put himself through school."

"Doing what? I know the _Daily Planet_ article mentioned something about photography…" Kyle makes a show of flipping back through his notebook to find the note he dutifully made.

"Oh, sure. But he also fancied himself a bit of a detective. One of the first things he did when he moved back to Gotham was get himself a P.I. license, and I'm sure you know it's a line of work that seems to attract harassment complaints."

"Yeah. Yeah, that could do it," Kyle says, recalling what Stephanie said about Tim loving mysteries. 

* * *

His phone rings just as he's finishing up going through the files. The number looks vaguely familiar, so he isn't surprised when he answers and is greeted by none other than Vicki Vale, finally getting back to him. "Can you meet me in 45 minutes?" she asks, rattling off the name of a café and its address before Kyle can even say yes.

* * *

It ends up taking a little longer than he would like to get there since he's far from an expert at managing Gotham's public transit system, but Vale is still there when Kyle steps inside. He orders a tea, watching the reporter out of the corner of his eye while he stands at the counter. She looks nervous—anxious, even—as she waits. It doesn't escape his notice that she's specifically chosen a table that allows her a view of the room but at the same time hides her from the street.

He collects his drink and makes his way over, smiling his most charming smile. "Ms. Vale? I'm Kyle Rayner, thanks so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice." She half-rises to shake his hand before they both settle in.

"You said on the phone that you're looking into Timothy Drake's disappearance for the Wayne family," she says, clenching and unclenching her hands where they rest on the table.

"Ah, not exactly. I'm a friend of the fiancé. I have some free time and I figured I'd have one last go at trying to give him some peace of mind." Not strictly true, but close enough. A lot closer to the truth than what he told Mac, at least.

"Still. You're from outside the city," she says, nodding her head.

"That's definitely true."

"Means you likely don't have a horse in this race." She takes a deep breath, fiddling with her cup. "Did you know Drake?"

"Never had the pleasure of meeting him before his disappearance."

"Right. Okay." She glances nervously at the door, and gives herself a shake. "I'm assuming you contacted me because of the article the _Gazette_ ran when he went missing."

"It was a rather… eye-opening piece. Like I said, I know Jason, and the man you described in that article didn't sound like anyone he'd be friends with, let alone want to marry."

"That article… God, it's awful. I kept getting all these horrible stories from the cops at the time, everything I dug up surrounding those police reports was awful, and I can tell you right now it was definitely all bullshit," she says, her tone turning fierce and angry.

Kyle's eyebrows shoot up. "You're the one who wrote it."

"I wrote an article that had only a passing acquaintance with what went to print. There was a lot more to it, but somewhere between when I submitted and when it was printed, large chunks ended up rephrased, reworked, or removed completely. I didn't know Drake, not really, but I did speak with him at different Wayne functions over the years. He was a bright, confident, funny young man. It's a travesty that his name was smeared the way it was and I hate that mine was used to do it."

"You make it sound like there was a conspiracy of some kind to defame him after the fact," Kyle says.

Vale holds up a hand. "I'm not saying that, and neither should you. Not while you're still in city limits, at least."

* * *

"You busy tomorrow?" He's pretty sure Mac mentioned having Saturdays free, but Kyle remembers the job and knows that things like schedules don't always work out.

"Why?" Mac narrows her eyes at him over the mediocre Chinese she picked up on the way back to her place from the station.

"I was just thinking—I wouldn't mind getting a good look at the area where Drake disappeared. Might give me a better sense of what happened." He has no idea how—just about any evidence that wasn't washed away with the flooding has no doubt disappeared in the intervening years—but it seems to be the right thing to do, for completeness if nothing else.

"You want to go out to the county lands? You sure? It's wilderness—a lot of dirt, bugs, and trees. Some mud."

"Figure I might as well try and get a good idea of the whole of it, right? Plus, the reason I'm doing this is to give the family some peace of mind, makes sense to at least look at where he was last." Not strictly true, but close enough. It seems impossible that someone could just disappear without a trace, but Donna used to drag him out to the Catskills so she could do wildlife photography some weekends. He knows how it can feel like you're in the middle of nowhere when there's a road less than twenty feet away.

"Fair enough." She plucks a piece of broccoli from her box and chews on it thoughtfully. "Pretty sure Shotgun's on duty tomorrow. I bet he'd be more than happy to take us out and talk the case over with you."

"Shotgun?"

"Shotgun Smith, the local sheriff. Drake was headed out to a state park, but his car was parked on county land, so the case fell under county jurisdiction, though the Waynes requested GCPD be allowed to have a liaison on the case, so Shotgun and I were working it together. Guy was really torn up about the whole thing. Apparently he kinda knew the kid, back before the Drakes ever left Gotham."

"Oh, well. Might not be the best idea to reopen old wounds?" Though if this Shotgun is the one who worked the county side of the Drake disappearance, Kyle is particularly keen on hearing what he has to say about the whole thing.

"Shotgun, bothered by a little thing like that? Ha, no way—if anything, the guy would love to get another shot at the whole business," Mac says. "He took it personally, that something like that could happen right under his nose."

"That'd be good. You've been great, but I wouldn't mind talking to the other person who handled the case."

"Knowing Shotgun, he can probably do you one better," Mac says, setting down her food and reaching for her phone. "He's something of a luddite, and I know for a fact he likes to hold onto paper copies of every case he works on— _particularly_ the unsolveds."

* * *

Steven 'Shotgun' Smith is a character. He wears a trenchcoat and a fedora pulled down low, and he grips Kyle's hand strong and firm when he shakes it with the hand that isn't holding an honest-to-god sawed-off shotgun.

"So," he drawls in an accent that's pure Gotham, "MacDonald tells me you're looking into the Drake disappearance." They're on their way to where Drake's car was found, having piled into Shotgun's blue unmarked after the man insisting that Mac shouldn't let her pretty city car get all dirtied up by the rough roads that border the state park.

"Just trying to bring the family some peace of mind," Kyle says. He's said the same thing so often over the last couple of days that he's honestly starting to believe it's true. Not that it _isn't_ true, just… slightly misleading. "Did a lot of digging in the city, figured I should at least stop by the scene of the crime, as it were, before heading back home."

"And home for you would be…?"

"New York City." He barely resists adding a 'sir' to the end of the sentence. Sure, Shotgun's older than him and the current sheriff of Gotham County, but Kyle wasn't very good at showing respect even when he was still on the force. It's probably the shotgun riding in the door caddy beside him—there's something about a gun that size which just seems to inspire a certain degree of respect.

"You're not mixed up in Gotham politics, then."

"Nope. I try to avoid politics in general. Safer that way, I find."

"The thing about Gotham is that the people who live there love the place, but we all know it's a bit of a shithole," Shotgun says. "And the shit sticks to everything, works its way into just about every part of the city, GCPD included." He spares a glance at Mac and grimaces. "Present company excluded, of course. MacDonald here is as straight as they come, for Gotham cops."

"From everything I heard, you were a straight shooter too, Shotgun. It's a shame what happened to you," she insists.

"Naw, it's just nature. Survival of the fittest and all that. I do alright work where I am now, suits me better. Get more done, not having to deal with city politics. Mostly just dumb suburb kids pulling pranks and the occasional lost hiker."

"Not that many disappearances?"

Shotgun sighs again, though this time it's halfway to a growl. "Look, that whole thing stank to high heaven. Still not sure why the city-types insisted it was some idiot getting himself washed out to sea—granted, I hadn't dealt with Drake since he came back, but I ran into him sometimes when the family still lived local. He was a good kid, not like a lot of these rich little suburb snots."

"People change when they get older. There's a lot of stuff that makes it sound he was a party-hard kid who thought the rules didn't apply to him." Evidence that seems to be fabricated for the most part, but Kyle doesn't mention that.

"Like I said," Shotgun growls as he turns onto a dirt sideroad. "The city's a shithole. Sometimes that shit gets flung at people who should be completely clear of the target range. If a person's not around to stand up for himself, it tends to stay stuck."

"What are you saying? That there's some conspiracy to foul up Timothy Drake's name after the fact?" Mac asks, grabbing the side safety handle in an effort to minimize her jostling on the bumpy road. "Sure, there was some strange stuff going on with all those reports on him, but what would be the point? The man's already gone, and even when he was around, he wasn't any big shaker. He was a good student, an alright photographer, and an amateur detective. The most he had going for him was his connection to the Waynes, and they're the last people to be involved in anything shady."

"I don't know about that." Shotgun yanks the car to a halt and pops open his door. "Alright, kids. We're here."

The car fills with the sounds of the forest—birds chirping, insects buzzing. Under it all, Kyle can hear the quiet roar of a nearby river.

* * *

Poking around the clearing, Kyle isn't sure what he expected to find. It's been nearly three and a half years since whatever went down happened, any evidence that was here is long gone, if it wasn't washed away when the river overflowed its banks.

"Was the car damaged much by the flooding?" he asks, grabbing onto a sturdy branch and leaning out slightly over the rushing water. The banks are a little steep here, the rocks and dirt held back by roots and pure spite. It isn't hard to believe that someone misjudged their footing and fell in, then got swept downstream by the rapidly moving water. Even under normal conditions, the current looks fast and strong.

Still. Something like that should leave a body. Waterlogged and badly tumbled, but something.

"Not really. It definitely floated a bit—the gas tank got snagged on those boulders over there," Mac says, gesturing to the other side of the impromptu parking area. "But it was high enough up that it was otherwise fine. The interior, at least."

"Engine was full of silt and junk," Shotgun supplies. "Fancy car, good seal on the doors, crap protection for everything under the hood."

"And the outdoors stuff? I assume he must have had something—kayak, backpack, some kind of camping gear."

"Found bits and pieces of it scattered all over. His life vest was snagged on a log, looked like it got torn off," Mac offers.

"Torn my ass. It _looked_ like someone cut through the straps," Shotgun insists.

"Forensics couldn't come up with anything conclusive one way or another."

"Forensics can suck my—"

"It could have been torn, it could have been cut," Mac quickly interrupts. "If it was cut, we don't know who did the cutting. Maybe Drake cut himself free when he was caught—the vest was pretty battered, and there was a lot of debris coming down the river that weekend. Could be he was afraid he'd get smashed by something."

"It's reasonable fear, if it was as bad as you say."

This time, they all three turn to look at the river. There are some pretty decent-sized pieces of wood floating past, and they're well out of the rainy season.

Kyle swallows. "Well. I think I've seen all that I can here. If we leave for Gotham now, there's a good chance there'll still be time for dinner before I catch the overnight train back home."

He has plenty more questions, but he's fairly certain there's nothing in Gotham County that can answer them.

* * *

They're most of the way back to the city when Mac's phone chirps in the dashboard holder. He can't see the screen with the way it's angled, but at the next red light she glances at it while they're stopped and curses softly.

"Something wrong?"

"Do you mind if we make a detour before getting your stuff and I drop you at the station? I have to do some interviews and I'm afraid the place'll be closed if I double-back later."

"Do I get to snoop and watch you work?" he asks, more teasing than anything else.

"Yeah, sure. Can't hurt, especially since the department refuses to spring for another warm body so I can have a partner." She sighs and takes a right at the next traffic light.

"I was wondering about that. You're flying solo these days?" She didn't have a partner when he met her either, but she was in Missing Persons then. Major Crimes is the GCPD's proverbial pearl, it's odd that one of their detectives should be forced to go it alone.

"Newest addition means I get the shittiest cases and have to eke it out alone. It probably doesn't help that no one's exactly eager to partner up with me considering my association with the Drake case."

Remembering what Vale said (well, strongly implied, really) about there being some sort of force behind Tim's frequent run-ins with the law, and that possibly just one small piece of some kind of grander conspiracy, Kyle frowns. "You should have told me it's hurting your career to help me out with this. I could've done it alone." 

It would have been harder, sure, but anyone can access public records and he got a lot from Vale.

Mac snorts and shakes her head. "Heck if I'm going to let a few grumpy assholes with less than stellar reputations keep me from doing the right thing. This was my case, is _still_ my case. I'd rather Shotgun and I had solved it on our own, but if what it takes is a fresh and trusted set of eyes on the problem, I'm not going to complain."

"Still. You shouldn't have to suffer just because you didn't close one case."

"Who says my not closing it's why I'm _persona non grata_ around Central?" Mac says, a steely glint in her eyes as she maneuvers the car into an open parking spot. "C'mon, grab that notepad of yours. You can be my secretary for the next hour or so."

* * *

Mac leads them to a small shop with nothing more than a name in the window—'Lavelle's'—advertising it on the street. There are a few lengths of velvet draped in the display like curtains, but the lighting is such that he can't really see in to get any idea of what it is they sell. He's sure it's got to be either an upscale sex shop or a front for a brothel, and walking inside, he sees he's not entirely wrong. The store is mostly empty, but a couple of mannequins are tucked into alcoves, each of them wearing some very fancy underwear.

Well. Never let it be said Mac doesn't take him interesting places.

He wanders around the room, taking everything in while Mac introduces herself to the owner and gets a list of what was stolen. It totals to something over ten thousand dollars in all, which doesn't surprise Kyle one bit. He's tagged along on some of Donna's shoots, acting as a general lackey to carry equipment and hold lights, and he knows what high-end lingerie can go for.

When he's finished his circuit, he comes back over to where Mac and the eponymous Lavelle are talking. "Sorry, don't mean to butt in, but I was wondering what the cameras caught?"

"You didn't mention you have a security system," Mac says, following Kyle's arm to where one of said cameras is tucked up on the ceiling, barely visible from where it's peeking out from behind a swath of velvet.

Lavelle sighs. "That's because we don't, not really. We had an arrangement to have one put in several years ago, but the person doing the installation never got further than putting up the cameras."

"And you still paid him?"

"Well, no. It was going to be a trade-in-kind sort of thing where he'd put in the cameras and set up the system, and we'd do a custom job for him. He was supposed to network the cameras and show us how to view the footage when he came for his fitting, but he never showed up." She shrugs. "We technically never paid him for the cameras, so we've just left them as a deterrent and figure it kind of evens out."

"Yeah, not surprised to hear he didn't show," Kyle mutters, his eyes narrowed. He _recognizes_ those cameras.

"Something you want to share with the rest of the class?" Mac asks, raising an eyebrow.

"I've seen a set-up like this before—same cameras, same unobtrusive placement, and I bet you anything they were put in by the same guy."

"Alright, I give. Where'd you see them?"

"Jason Wayne's New York apartment," Kyle tells her. "Weren't you just saying earlier that Drake seems to drag himself into everything you do? Guess you weren't wrong."

"It was so sad, what happened to him," Lavelle says. "I was under the impression that the piece he wanted in payment to be a wedding-night surprise. A really sweet guy."

Kyle nods along, only half-listening. If he's learned anything about Tim Drake over the past few days, it's that the man never left anything half-way done. "Hey, d'you still have the same computer you were using when he installed these? I want to check something."

* * *

With everything he's learned from Gary over the last few years, it's easy enough to find where the security footage is being stored on the office desktop computer. "It's set up to write over the old stuff every six months or so, but that can be modified easily enough," Kyle explains, showing Lavelle where she can go to do that. "Your break-in was a few days ago, right? Should be easy to find." He scrolls through the file, glancing at date stamps as he goes.

"Most of the stuff that was taken wasn't even out front," she says, sounding regretful. "I'm not sure if he ever got around to putting cameras in the stockroom."

"Oh, I'm sure he did. I mean, if most of your merchandise is in the back, it makes sense to get that under eyes as a top priority, right after the cash register. Here we go, I think this is the right one." He double clicks the video to set it playing, pointing out the fast forward and frame-by-frame features as he uses them.

"When did you get so tech-savvy, Rayner?" Mac asks, sounding more than a little impressed.

"Guy I met on a case back before I retired. Gary's a whiz with this kind of stuff, way better than me, but I pick up a little here and there from just watching him," he explains, hitting the spacebar to freeze the image. "There you go—that's your burglar." He gestures to the screen, where a man is caught in the middle of putting several corsets into a bag.

"He's going to damage them, bundling them up like that," Lavelle says, leaning over Kyle's shoulder to peer at the screen. "Oh dear. I was afraid of that."

"What is it?" Mac asks, apparently picking up on the disappointed tone Kyle also noticed in the woman's voice.

"That's my partner's brother, Paul Mara. He helps out around here a little when we have heavy lifting or something that needs doing. He's had some trouble with things in the past, but we'd really thought he'd turned it around this time."

Kyle grins, glancing over at Mac. It's not the case she wants closed, but it's still a solve on a silver platter. Definitely one of his finer "good guest" moments.

* * *

Kyle leaves Gotham at half-past seven and gets into Penn Station at close to one in the morning, so he goes straight home and unearths his phone, checking his messages and answering the important ones. Right before he crashes, he shoots a text off to Jason to let him know he's back.

The chime of his phone rouses him awake seven hours later—he remembered to put the burner on silent and blanked on his actual phone like the idiot that he is. The sound is one that means it's a text from Jason, and it summons enough feelings of loneliness and guilt that he knows it's pointless for him to go back to sleep.

It's a little after eight, which is too early to be up after the emotional toll of the last few days, but he's the one who thought dating an early bird was a great idea so he only has himself to blame. He calls Jason and puts the phone on speaker so he can get dressed while waiting for coffee to brew.

"Hey, what's up?"

_"Jesus, did I wake you up? Sorry, I wasn't thinking. Just saw your text and responded on automatic."_

"I'm the idiot who forgot to put it on silent before passing out. You have a good couple of days?" Kyle grabs the phone and wanders into the kitchen, pulling on his shirt the rest of the way as he goes.

_"Finally finished slogging through that ridiculous high-fantasy romance Judy unloaded on me."_

The coffee is nearly finished, so he pulls a couple of travel mugs down and gets them ready, adding creamer to one and leaving the other empty. "That's good." Jason's been bitching about that particular manuscript for the past couple of weeks. Apparently the author is some relative of one of the higher ups at the company he freelances for, and as a newbie writer doesn't understand the concept of self-editing.

 _"Went to the opening for Donna's new show on Saturday,"_ Jason adds, sounding slightly accusatory.

Kyle swears as he pours coffee into both mugs and twists on the lids. "That was _this_ weekend? I thought for sure it wasn't until the ninth." Fuck, Donna is so totally going to kill him for this. He’ll have to find some really nice way to make it up to her.

 _"Babe. Today's the tenth. Yesterday_ was _the ninth."_

"On a scale of one to ten, how much trouble am I in?" he asks, switching off speakerphone and jamming the phone up between his ear and his shoulder as he grabs both mugs in one hand, his keys in the other.

_"Solid seven, and that's only because I gave her our reservation for that Indian place you wanted to try."_

Dammit, Kyle had really been looking forward to that. Still, he deserves it for forgetting Donna's show. "Thanks, I owe you one."

_"Mmm, you sure do. Wanna come over? Pretty sure you also have a rain check on a breakfast, too."_

"I'd love to, but I've got something I have to do this morning. Actually, I'm on my way out. Next time?"

_"Next time, for sure."_

"For sure," Kyle says, then bites his tongue to stop himself from saying more before ending the call.

* * *

He has to bang on the door several times before it finally opens. Dressed in an oversized flannel shirt and a too-big pair of sweats, Gary looks even more like death warmed over than Kyle's used to. His mullet is sticking straight up, his beard is even more scraggly than usual, and there are dark shadows under his eyes when he squints up at him.

"I _know_ we weren't supposed to meet up. I never agree to do anything before ten on the weekend."

"Can I come in?" he asks, shoving the creamer-free travel mug into Gary's hands. "We need to talk." Kyle's feeling pissed enough about this whole thing that he has no qualms about not bothering to wait for a reply before pushing him aside and stepping into the apartment.

"I don't think—"

"—that this is really a conversation we should have where just anyone can listen in," Kyle says smoothly, reaching back to shut the door behind him. "Is it, Tim?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, there is one more story in this trilogy. ;)
> 
> [I have a tumblr!](http://themandylion.tumblr.com/) Come visit if you want ridiculous AU headcanons, rants about the English language (and/or educational publishing), history fangirling, adorable baby bats, and veeeeery occasional fanart. Also, because I am an actual human being with opinions of my own, sometimes I post or reblog things that reflect those opinions. If you can't handle the idea of someone existing in the universe and possessing opinions which differ from your own, you should not click that link.


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